


Home

by Sash_Ah



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sash_Ah/pseuds/Sash_Ah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie and Ichabod coming together in the finale.  Written mainly from Ichabod's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea bouncing around in my head of our heroes and the epic hug we were promised for the finale. I just had to get it down. This is my VERY FIRST fic, so feedback is appreciated, but please... be gentle. :) Not edited so please forgive any mistakes. Thank you SOOO much for reading and I hope you all enjoy.

He stumbled from the battlefield, dazed and confused, having narrowly avoided the Hessian’s broadax. He glanced back at the masked head separated from the body. Though he did not understand how, it had all happened just as she predicted.

“When you shoot him, he won’t die. Watch for his ax across your chest. You’ll have to take off his head to stop him.” she had told him.

She had insisted that she and he were partners and witnesses in a war that spanned centuries, but Ichabod was certain that he had never met her before. He most definitely would have remembered this Miss Mills; the woman who would speak only with him; the woman with the unique accent, the woman who wore trousers, the woman who insisted upon addressing him using only his surname. Ichabod was convinced that the woman who stood incarcerated before him was completely mad. He turned on his heel to head toward the door.

“You’re obsessed with desserts, sweets of any kind really.” She yelled from her cell. Ichabod continued walking.

“You talk in your sleep.” He slowed only slightly.

“You have a scar on your left forearm caused by falling out of a tree as a child.” Ichabod stopped completely but did not turn around. He turned his head to the side, his narrowed eyes never landing on her as he contemplated her last statement. He could not recall sharing that bit of information with anyone before. With a minor shake of his head, Ichabod took two quick strides and continued out the door.

The strange woman had been right. His encounter with the Hessian and even the attack from his wife, she had foretold. He hardly had time to register the surprise of Katrina attempting to use her powers to harm him, powers he did not know she possessed, before she was taken down by one of his comrades. How did she know? Surely she could not have come from 200 years in the future as she had stated. After the events of the past day, Ichabod was sure of nothing anymore; except that he owed his life to Miss Mills. He wanted to do nothing more in that moment than to offer his sincerest gratitude and free her from imprisonment. Yes, he needed to wrap his head around the myriad of questions he had for her, but he could not bear the thought of letting Miss Mills remain in captivity a moment longer. Ichabod mounted the nearest horse he could find and rode hastily in the direction of town. He hoped that no harm had come to her due to his disbelief of her narrative.

He arrived at the lockup as the sun was setting. He quickly dismounted and hurried inside. Ichabod told the guard that he needed to see Miss Mills at once. The guard’s only response was a look of bewilderment. It was only then that Ichabod registered the state of his appearance. He was exhausted, filthy, and his shirt had been sliced open by the broadax that missed his chest by smallest of margins. Impatient with the guard’s confusion, Ichabod rushed to the back of the building where the detainees were kept. “Miss Mills…” he called out as he entered the room only to find the cell where she stood hours before to be empty. The cell where that very morning she stood unflinching under his intense gaze was empty. _Gone._ The guard had said. Ichabod felt his heart sink at hearing his words. A Mister Saunders had arrived a short time after his departure with papers verifying his ownership of the prisoner. What was he to do now? Why did he hesitate? Why did he not have the courage to believe her? She was lost, and now, so was he. Ichabod walked out of the building but could not venture past the steps. He sank down, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.

He raised his head to the heavens trying to make sense of it all. The despair weighed heavily upon him, threatening to crush him at any moment. His world had fallen apart over the course of a day. He had lost his wife, rather he had lost the person he thought she was, the life he believed that they would share. Miss Mills had entered his life and as fate would have it, she was a gift from God. But alas, he had lost her as well. Ichabod let out the deep breath that he had been holding as he gazed across the road. And there he saw… Benjamin Franklin! Franklin, with his rather portly figure, was gazing upon him with that insufferable, smug smile on his face. Ichabod stood up slowly never taking his glaring eyes off of his former mentor. Franklin only shook his head, taking one step to his right to reveal… Miss Mills! Her entire petite form had been hidden by Franklin’s enormous girth. Ichabod’s breathing stopped.

She was scanning the crowds of people, looking for something or someone. He saw her eyes grow wide as they landed upon him. Her mouth slowly curling into a smile as she said the name he could only see but not hear. _Crane._ In a flash, she was running, sprinting at full speed toward him. Ichabod was transfixed, unable to move from where he stood as her short, fast strides drew her closer and closer to him with each passing second. When she reached him, her body collided with his with enough force to topple them both had he not braced himself for the impact. Her arms snaked around his neck, squeezing him tightly. Ichabod wrapped his arms around her back in response, returning her tight squeeze with one of his own that lifted Miss Mills’ feet clear off of the ground. Ichabod was astonished when her legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing his middle with more force and power than her diminutive stature would lead one to believe she was capable of exerting. He was aware of how improper it was to be engaging in such an indecent embrace with an unmarried woman, and in a public place no less. Yet, he barely registered the outraged stares of passers-by due to Miss Mills burying her face in the crook of his neck. The feeling of her breath upon his skin there was enough to make him forget his own name, not to mention his propriety.  

Ichabod turned his head slightly toward hers and inhaled deeply. The scent of jasmine and coconut filled his nostrils, eliciting a sense of… familiarity within him. A memory that he could not quite place. It was as though he had been awoken while in the midst of a dream, only to have the images blur at the edges and fade away before his mind could register them. This caused him to draw her even closer, to hold her tighter. The fingers of his left hand spread wide across her back as his right hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Ichabod exhaled as he gently cradled the back of Miss Mills’ head as though she was his entire world, as though she was the only thing anchoring him to this earth. When he felt her tears against his neck he had the overwhelming feeling that despite the events of this day, everything would be all right. As long as she was near, he felt safe and secure.

So when her legs released him and her hands slid from his neck down to his forearms, he immediately missed her close proximity. Miss Mills gazed up at him with teary brown eyes that regarded him with a devotion that was not lost on Ichabod. She grinned at him and she whispered “Let’s go home.” Ichabod stared into her eyes, entranced by her smile. He would have followed her anywhere, to the ends of the earth, through every circle of hell and back. But he responded only returning her smile and adding a firm nod. Because he had no explanation for what was going through his head. He dared not speak the reply that played over and over in his mind; the words that he felt with every fiber of his being: _YOU are my home._

**Author's Note:**

> So I kinda rushed over a lot in the beginning and middle because the actual reunion is what was driving this thing. I loved the idea of Ichabod and Abbie just saying F you to the 18th century and just having this completely inappropriate hug in front of everybody, and right in front of the jail, no less!  
> Side note: Richard Saunders was one of Ben Franklin's pen names, the one he used when publishing Poor Richard's Almanac. How he knew to spring Abbie from the clink...well, you can make that part up yourselves. :)


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